


This Broken World We Choose

by Seascribe



Category: The Eagle | The Eagle of the Ninth (2011)
Genre: Babies, Multi, OT3, Post-Book(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-01
Updated: 2011-10-01
Packaged: 2017-10-24 05:17:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/259410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seascribe/pseuds/Seascribe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/250922">All We Know of Heaven.</a>  "<i>It does not mean there is any less love for you</i>, Cottia promises the baby silently. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Broken World We Choose

**Author's Note:**

> Title from the song "Shine" by Vienna Teng. Written for The Eagle Fanmedia Challenge: Round Two, inspired by the picture of the wolf cub. It doesn’t seem too far-fetched that any kids in the Aquila family were probably romping with the dogs as soon as they could crawl; the story ended up being more about other things, but that’s where it started.

The floppy-eared hound had not been young when the first babe had been born, and she had lain down patiently to be his playmate and sometimes pillow. Now, she is too old to run on the hunt and spends most of her days keeping a sleepy eye on whatever passes in the yard. But when the new babe comes, she presses close to sniff at the little one's downy hair, and her tail wags as enthusiastically as ever.

 _That’s a good girl_ , Cottia says, and there is only the smallest catch in her voice. The first time, there had been no grey around Lachne’s muzzle. Then, it had been nearly spring, and the babe at her breast had had Marcus' black hair. Then, the only lines on Marcus' face had been from laughter, and she had never seen Esca weep.

The hound licks lovingly at her hand, and Cottia brings herself back to now, the trailing end of autumn, her daughter's hair a match for her own and Marcus' smile as fragile as the pulse fluttering under the baby's soft skin. Esca's mouth is smiling too, but the tears in his eyes are not all for joy. But how can Cottia fault him for that when her own heart still aches, even on this day?

 _It does not mean there is any less love for you_ , she promises the baby silently.

*  
Spring comes, and with it the new foals. Cottia lines a basket with blankets so that the little one can sleep in an empty stall through the small hours of the morning when Esca’s prize mare is in distress and every hand is needed. Lachne curls up dutifully by the basket's side, with her eyes closed, but her ears perked warily.

When all is done and Marcus comes to carry the child back to her proper cradle, she is watching solemnly with wide grey eyes, silent and content, her little hand curling in the hound's shaggy fur. She fusses when she is pried gently away, and Cottia comes to stand with them, leaning against Marcus’ side. In the next stall, Esca stays until the new foal begins trying to master its ungainly legs, sliding about in the straw. It is for the mare and nature to manage from here. He washes his hands and comes to wraps his arm around Cottia's waist, tucking his chin into Marcus’ shoulder.

There is a sudden tightness in Cottia's throat. In the grey dawn, the babe in Marcus' arms might be a black-haired newborn, and this might be a spring morning a lifetime ago, when it had been just like this, the four of them, with Lachne watching faithfully and a new foal just by. For just a moment, she lets herself pretend that they have only ever been happy, that these last years have been only a dream.

But it is a weak fantasy, and when it dissolves, she feels sick with guilt for betraying this real and living child, even if only in her own mind. She does not realise she has made a noise, raw and low like a wounded animal, until Esca's hand clutches hers in understanding and Marcus kisses her temple. Cottia takes a deep breath and then another, and then finds herself smiling as the new foal finally gets all four hooves beneath him and goes nuzzling after his mother’s milk.

*  
Harvest time--almost a full year gone by already, but Cottia can remember every precious day--and the little one is crawling so well now, tumbling in the dirt with the hound puppies and getting into mischief. Mostly, she is a serious, stoic baby, taking her bumps and bruises quietly, but quick to laugh.

 _She is so like Marcus_ , says Esca softly, watching her play. There may be truth in that, but Cottia prefers to think that mostly their baby is exactly like her own self. One of the long-limbed pups pushes her down and darts in to lick all over her face, making her crow with laughter. Across the yard, Marcus hears and looks up from his work, an answering smile flashing across his face. Cottia sees nothing but happiness there.

It is more and more that way of late. There are still hard days, sometimes, but new memories are making now, untouched by the shadows of old grief. The little one learns to walk, surprising them all when she lets go of Marcus’ knee and takes her first bold, staggering steps. Esca crouches on the floor to meet her, and she beams at him when she tumbles into his arms, looking quite proud of herself. That moment belongs only to her, and when Cottia searches her heart for the old, familiar ache, she finds it does not strike so sharp any more, though she will not ever forget.

Marcus and the baby are laughing as he swings her overhead, and Esca smiles indulgently. By the fire, Lachne’s tail thumps joyfully against the rug. It has been a hard road to get to this happiness, and doubtless there will be more hardship in the future, but for now, their little family is happy and safe, and Cottia is content.


End file.
